


Prompt: Foster Feud

by EssayOfThoughts



Series: MCU Maximoff Oneshots [91]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abuse, Child Abuse, Codependency, Gen, sibling dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 22:46:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7550185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EssayOfThoughts/pseuds/EssayOfThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They are not parted. Not with the first foster family, not with the second, nor with the third.</p><p>The fourth though. The fourth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompt: Foster Feud

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wandasmaximoffs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wandasmaximoffs/gifts).



> Written for a prompt on my tumblr, readable [Here](http://essayofthoughts.tumblr.com/post/147770779775/quietly-prompts-the-foster-family-thing-xoxo-rin). Note in general, this was partially inspired by a particular chapter in _The Raven Boys._ Those of you’ve that have read it can probably guess which.

**i.  
** People have always found their closeness odd. There are even some who go so far as to call it _wrong._  The twins have heard it all before, heard it since they were small, heard it more since they were pulled from the rubble of their home.

Heard it more and more as they grow and older and people misunderstand them more.

“They will never understand us,” Wanda says, watching the other children at the orphanage play. “We may always be alone, but for each other.”

Pietro, beside her, is silent. From that alone she knows: he does not mind. He might not even _care._

 

* * *

 

 **ii.**  
“We only have so much space,” the social worker says. “And there are those who wish to foster you.”

The twins’ hands are white-knuckled where their fingers grasp tightly. “We do not want to be parted,” Wanda says. “We are all we have left.”

 

* * *

 

 **iii.**  
They are not parted. Not with the first foster family, not with the second, nor with the third.

The fourth though.

 

* * *

 

 **iv.**  
“They only have space enough for one of you,” the social worker says. (Her name is Ana, they learned early on. She’s nice, but she has quotas to fill.) “They live nearby, though - you will be at the same school still, you can visit each other.”

(The twins’ hands are white-knuckled where they hold each other.)

“We would not ask this if there were other options,” Ana says. “Which of you will go?”

 

* * *

 

 **v.**  
Wanda goes. Pietro can charm and make friends, yes, but he can also make trouble. At the orphanage he knows everyone, knows where he fits into it all. He would not at a new foster home, not without Wanda, and so Wanda - adaptable, peaceable - goes alone.

“I will walk you home from school every day,” Pietro promises, pressing a kiss to her brow. “And I will visit whenever I can.”

Only Wanda sees the expression of distaste on her new foster father.

 

* * *

 

 **vi.**  
He never says anything about it, the Foster father, Markus. Never comments on Pietro walking Wanda back from school, the twins hand-in-hand. Never comments on how much time they spend together even as Wanda does the chores she is assigned, keeps tidy her half of the room she shares with little Mina. Never comments when she wakes from nightmares, calling for her brother.

He _looks,_ though, looks in a way that feels like a comment or a warning, that leave Wanda feeling compelled to say, “We are _twins._ We have no one else left in the _world.”_

He still watches, though, and it does not become any kinder, feel any less a warning.

It is not long before Pietro watches back.

(Wanda can see the echoes of Father's anger at the world in the lines of her brother's face.)

 

* * *

 

 **vii.**  
“He will hurt you,” Pietro warns as he walks Wanda home one day. He sounds _scared_  more than anything and Wanda squeezes his fingers to try to offer comfort. “He does not understand us,” Pietro says.

“No,” Wanda says. “He understands wrong.”

 

* * *

 

 **viii.**  
“Your brother,” Markus says at dinner that evening, and Wanda feels something in her chest loosen to hear his comments at last. “They must not be keeping him busy, if he can walk you home each day.”

(There is something about how Markus says _home_  that makes the hair on Wanda’s back rise.)

“They keep him busy,” she says. “We all had chores there too.”

“Then he must be skipping homework, to make all the time he spends with you.”

 _(With you,_  so many implications held in so few words.)

“Pietro is fast,” she says, stabbing her last piece of potato. “He sprints home.”

“Always in a rush,” Markus says, and laughs. “That will not serve him well in life.”

Wanda says nothing, only watches. 

“Tell your brother,” Markus says, “That he is not welcome here any more.”

 

* * *

 

 **ix.**  
“I don’t care,” Pietro says when she conveys the message. “You are my _sister._  He has no right to keep me from you. Only you have that.”

“He will hurt you,” Wanda warns. “If you flout his authority.”

Pietro’s grin is wide and bright and certain. “He would have to catch me first.”

Wanda does not say the thought that follows, will not worry her brother so, but the thought echoes all the same.

_Then he will hurt **me.**_

 

* * *

 

 **x.**  
“I told you,” Markus says when she gets in. “He isn’t welcome here.”

Wanda walks quickly, goes to drop her bag in her room, start her chores. 

“Did you hear me?” Markus calls. Wanda takes the sponge from Markus’ wife, Sonja, the bottle of spray-cleaner and starts on the kitchen taps. “Wanda.”

Wanda breathes in, stays calm. (She can still feel where Pietro’s lips had pressed to her brow before he had gone, feel the imprint of his fingers on hers.) “I heard, Markus,” she says. “I told him. He didn’t listen.”

The laugh Markus gives, like every look had been, is a warning.

“Too much of a rush to listen?” he says. “That doesn’t fly.”

 

* * *

 

 **xi.**  
There are bruises on Wanda’s wrist in the morning. (“Tell him again,” Markus had hissed to her before she and the others - Mina, Nick, Anya - had left for school. Wanda can still feel his breath on her ear.)

She tugs her sleeves down so Pietro does not see, hides them with bracelets - no gloves, it is summer - but Pietro notices all the same.

“I will kill him,” he says, and Wanda knows he is no less than absolute.

 

* * *

 

 **xii.**  
He walks her home, again, because he is loath to leave her side if she is hurt.

Wanda does not tell him this will only make it worse. She needs his company too much for that.

 

* * *

 

 **xiii.**  
It continues. Wanda hides bruises with sleeves and hair and cosmetics, hides fear and discomfort in Pietro’s presence and the ease he gives her.

(“No one can keep me from you but you,” Pietro says, and they both know Wanda will never forbid him. They need each other too much for that.)

Sometimes Pietro notices her bruises, her fear, but Wanda gets better and better at hiding both - she will not worry Pietro unnecessarily and she knows what she can handle.

(“I will kill him,” Pietro says when he sees her bruises, notices her fear. Wanda knows he only holds back because she would forbid him.)

(“You should leave,” he says, some days.)

(“He might hurt us both, then.”)

 

* * *

 

 **xiv.**  
The snapping point, the final straw. Wanda knew it was coming, could see Sonja’s worry, Markus’ anger, Pietro’s pure fury.

It was, if anything, inevitable.

 

* * *

 

 **xv.**  
“Look what I found,” Pietro says in an attempt to cheer her. “Look at this.”

A necklace spills into her hands, a fine chain, a circular pendant, a red stone.

“It looks like Mama’s,” Wanda whispers.

Pietro nods, watches Wanda examine it.

“Here,” he says softly, taking the necklace from her hands, unclipping it. Wanda lifts her hair and as Pietro loops the necklace around his sister’s neck, clips it back together, he sees the shadowy bruise that marks her shoulder.

 _Goodbye will not be goodbye tonight,_  he decides. “Stay safe,” he says, when he hugs her farewell. “If you need me, call.”

 

* * *

 

 **xvi.**  
Wanda yells her brother’s name, once, as Markus rips the necklace from her.

 

* * *

 

 **xvii.**  
The world spins, the world is pain, and for just a moment Wanda feels rubble on her back, feels her throat dry and about to close up at the brick dust.

Just for a moment, and then there is pain again, a fist hitting her stomach. Wanda drops to the floor, curls to protect herself.

“I told you,” Markus says. “To keep your creepy brother away from here.”

Wanda can see, on the floor, where the necklace lies, one so like their mother’s. Wanda reaches for it.

Markus kicks it away. “You’re as creepy as he is,” he says. “Want the trinket back? You can have it when your brother _stays away.”_

“I won’t, though,” Pietro says, his fist already swinging. “Not until she asks me to.”

 

* * *

 

 **xviii.**  
Pietro is not taller than Markus, is not bigger or stronger. Pietro is fifteen and a half years old, very nearly undernourished, no stronger than any other Sokovian boy his age. 

He is fast, though, he has always been fast. 

(And more, more than that - this is for Wanda.)

 

* * *

 

 **xix.**  
“Call the police,” Wanda hisses to Sonja as she scrambles out, necklace in her fist. She knows the score: Pietro will not stop, not until she is safe and says so or he is dead.

Her _big_  bag is under her bed and her few belongings, her school bag, are thrown in as quickly as possible. When Wanda returns to the fight moments later they are still fighting. Sirens can already be heard, the police station only a few streets over.

Wanda stands in the doorway feeling the blood on her lip and says, quietly, clearly, “Pietro.”

 

* * *

 

 **xx.**  
Police come, stories are told. Pietro’s eyes stay fixed on Wanda’s, as certain as - no, _more_  certain than - she is. When the police let him go, settle him and Wanda into Ana’s car to go back to the orphanage his arm settles lightly around her shoulders. Wanda’s eyes stay fixed on the necklace, pendant in her palm, chain over her knuckles.

“Never again,” Pietro says. “Never again.”

It is a statement and a promise and half of an agreement, waiting only on her. Wanda can feel her blacked eye, her split lip, her bruised belly. Feel the raw line at her neck from the necklace chain.

“Never foster apart again,” she agrees. “Never again.”

Pietro presses a kiss to her hair, takes the hand that holds the necklace. 

“The only one allowed to keep from you is _you.”_

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave comments!


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